


As In Dreams

by Taffia



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Geth, Mass Effect 3 - Freeform, Planet Normandy, Synthesized
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taffia/pseuds/Taffia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A galaxy redeemed. A hero sacrificed. But light-years away and lost, Garrus and the others face unknown challenges and too many unanswered questions. The dreams of Shepard only make it worse, and a discovery leaves all of reality shaken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planet Normandy

He couldn't stop the dreams. He was even pretty sure that they were getting worse. Maybe it was the food. Three weeks on this forest-covered rock, and he was still restricted to whatever turian field rations remained in the Normandy's cargo. Despite EDI's prodding to "try the fish—they're a curious consistency with an intriguing flavor," he didn't want to risk it.

He didn't even feel hunger the same way anymore, and he was sure that was feeding the nightmares. No. Not nightmares. They didn't frighten him or fill him with dread. They were more like memories...memories meshed with now-abandoned aspirations. Shepard was in every one, dark haired and smiling. No Reapers. No Cerberus. Just her living a life she would never know.

Garrus sat straight-backed against the tree trunk. His favorite rifle was caught in his grip, subject to being cleaned for the third time that morning. Its surface was marred by scratches left by a Marauder on Palaven, the withered husk of someone he had probably once known. A former comrade. Maybe even a friend. He traced the jagged lines with his fingers. His stomach twisted at the tangle of thoughts that would probably always eat at him.

Where were they?

What happened to Earth?

To the others?

What of Palaven? Tuchanka? Sur'Kesh?

Why was EDI even _eating_? She didn't have the hardware for that kind of thing.

Or did she?

He looked down at his hand—probably for the thousandth time since they got here—squinting to make out the faint tracings that wove along his carapace. He felt different. They all felt different. Joker limped less. EDI could eat and feel sensations other than hot and cold. James-

"Yo, _jefe_!"

Garrus' eyes shot up at the voice, the deep green coming to focus on the broad form of James Vega as the soldier came plowing through the underbrush. The turian's danger sense never really diminished after the war with the Reapers, but the same could not be said for the younger human. Vega had sobered since Mars, sure, but the time spent on this planet had lessened his caution. He almost treated it like a vacation. Either that, or it was his own way of coping with the undeniable truth that they didn't know where they were...and neither did the rest of the galaxy.

"You are not going to believe what I found in the Loft. Did you even know about this?" He held out a data chip that looked too big for an omni-tool but too small for a terminal. "I figured that, if anyone would want to see it-" James hesitated, his boisterous demeanor trickling away. It was first evident in his eyes as the deep brown caught the light. There was the glisten of tears, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell. He recovered quickly. "If anyone would want to see it, it would be you."

He pulled a black box out of his belt pouch, a smooth thing of plastic and metal with a glass circle on the top, and inserted the data chip into the side. He then placed the box on the ground and pressed a button. There was a sputter of light and crackle of static. A vague form blipped into view, fuzzy, but the voice was unmistakeable.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier."

Garrus could only stare for a moment. His throat had gone dry while his jaw and mandibles clenched. He gripped his rifle tightly, his focus shooting from the box to the glow of the VI's face and back again. He struggled to his feet and practically staggered over. The image was sharpening as the transmitter warmed up.

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

"Shut it off." His voice was low, dangerous.

"But I thought you'd-"

"Except the Reapers. Ever see the size of one of those things?"

"I said shut it off!" Garrus primed his assault rifle and aimed it at the transmitter box.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" James dove forward and knocked the gun barrel toward the deep woods before Garrus could fire, the echo of the rapid shot seeming to carry on much longer than it should have. His foot shot out and kicked wildly at the transmitter box until he managed to hit the power switch. Shepard's likeness blinked out. The voice stopped.

Garrus didn't move. He stood there, James' hands clamped to his wrists to keep the deadly weapon pointed in a non-lethal direction. His breath was short and ragged, his eyes burning with rage and an overwhelming sadness. He inhaled deeply and forced himself to relax. James took the gun from him when his arms fell back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," the human said, genuine concern carried in his tone. "I thought that...maybe..."

Garrus turned to look at him. "I appreciate it," he said, hesitant but honest.

"But too soon?"

"Yes. Too soon."

They walked together back to the Normandy. She had been converted into full living quarters with a small encampment spread out around. Most of the crew had still been aboard, including Chakwas who spent most of her time helping Liara study the local flora while simultaneously monitoring the changes everyone noticed they had undergone. Traynor worked with EDI to get as many of the systems back online as possible, but it had long ago been determined that the Normandy would never fly again without some serious mechanical service. A beacon had been activated, but the reality was that no one was waiting around for rescue. The air was dead of any other signal. The space beyond was a black void of unfamiliar constellations and unknown moons. There were a few other planets in the system, but EDI had yet to gather together enough intel to compare to any extant records.

They made their home in a clearing protected by a sheer rock face on one side and a cliff drop-off on another. The forest took care of the rest. Evidence pointed to them having landed in a temperate zone of this planet, which didn't say much. The green foliage was in the newness of what passed for spring and the weather comfortable and breezy. However, it had yet to be determined what the seasons were actually like here, and it was already anticipated that most of the planet's year would be hot, humid, and probably close to unbearable in the sun. Traynor was already planning to upgrade the environmental life support systems to accommodate for any possibility (on a wing and a prayer, Garrus thought, as there was no place to even salvage for new parts).

Joker waved the two men down as soon as they were through the treeline.

"What did you bring in?" he called out.

"A cranky turian!" James hollered back. Garrus restrained the urge to hit him. The human still had his gun.

"No, I mean did you bag anything for dinner," Joker clarified when they were closer. "We heard gunshots."

"I thought I saw something," Garrus put in before James could breathe a word. "Turned out it was just wind and shadows."

"That's a shame," the pilot replied, actually looking disappointed. He adjusted the brim of his cap. "Those beaver-looking things you shot last week were pretty awesome. I really want to try it chargrilled with some good ol' southern barbeque sauce we found stashed in the kitchen. You'd love it, Garrus, I swear."

The turian shook his head, amused and annoyed at the same time. "What is it with the lot of you trying to get me to eat the food? You know I-"

"Because I think you can."

EDI stepped up next to Joker. Her metallic body was dressed in a salvaged Alliance uniform and her visor was shut off. It was disconcerting to see her eyes. They were as artificial as the rest of her, but every day there was something new behind them, a glint, a spark of emotion, a shadow of feeling. She had the same tracings shimmering along her as everyone else, and the reverberation of her voice was significantly more organic.

"I have been running tests on the crew and analyzing it alongside the results Chakwas and Liara bring in regarding local flora. Many things here are similar to Earth with some minor differences. Carbon-based life that relies on oxygen, but much contains a toxicity that the human body, at least, should not be able to handle. Mr. Vega was brave enough to sample every species found in the viscinity. The results were astounding."

James did a double-take. "Wait—you mean that eating contest you challenged me to could have killed me?"

"Only if I were wrong in my deductions."

"Is this a joke?"

"No." But EDI's lips did quirk upward a little. It was disconcerting for more reasons than the fact her face shouldn't have been able to move like that. "You were deemed to have the strongest metabolism. Chakwas was on alert should the worst occur."

James muttered a slew of things in Spanish that Garrus was glad he couldn't understand. He couldn't blame him. It was bad enough that they had to learn how to live on an alien world with little hope of rescue (when they were the ones who usually charged in to the rescue), but EDI satisfied her boredom with experiments. Necessary experiments, yes, but still lacking a good deal of empathy toward another living thing. She was learning. Slowly. But she was learning.

"Humans being able to eat it is one thing," Garrus said. "I'm not human. You know that."

"And that's precisely my point." EDI held up a piece of fruit that had been one of the the first things deemed edible. "My studies have proven that everyone's biology has changed somewhat. I have yet to deduce how, but I do believe the same applies to you. If the humans are able to eat food that would otherwise be toxic to them, my theory is that you should be able to do the same."

She held out the fruit to him. It filled her hand with a lumpy roundness. Its skin was soft and slightly fuzzy with a red-orange color that was a warm brown in places. Garrus had always thought it at least smelled good, and the others liked it well enough. Sweet, they said, sweet and juicy and surprisingly filling. He had never wanted to chance the indigestion. Tentatively, he reached out and took the fruit, holding it before his face for a moment before he made his final decision. It smelled good. And he was hungry and definitely sick of the field rations. But there was no knowing...

He took a bite. A small one. Just enough to let the juice spread over his tongue while his sharp teeth worked at the meat. It was a little on the stringy side, but he knew immediately why the others preferred it so highly. As it was, fresh off the tree, it was amazing. He bit off a little more, chewed and swallowed. He would know in seconds if he was in for a bad day.

"My theory stands," EDI said once Garrus finished the whole thing. He hadn't even noticed how quickly he'd wolfed it down. "We are all changed in some way. None of us are as we were." Her head tilted in such a way that made it look like she was scowling. "It will require further study."

"Study away," Joker told her with a shoulder squeeze and encouraging smile. "Planet Normandy is going nowhere."

"And neither are we," Garrus added, licking his fingers to taste the last of the sweetness. "But don't mind me if I'm not ready to accept that just yet."


	2. The Shepard VI

He spent the night in the main battery, keeping himself awake and distracted by calibrating a gun that would probably never fire again. The truth was that he didn't want to sleep. He was exhausted. He felt stiff in every joint, and his head pounded from the effort. But he couldn't afford another dream that he wouldn't want to wake from. It was becoming too much.

He'd lost Shepard once, and he'd nearly followed her, being sucked down into the world of questionable honor and mercenary tactics where dying was as good as any other option. When she'd come back, raised from the dead by Cerberus, he'd thought she was truly invincible. The Collectors failed at taking her out. The Reapers hadn't managed, either. So long as there was a shred of genetic coding, science could apparently find a way.

But he didn't know what happened after the run to the Conduit. She hadn't been among the casualties when Cortez swooped in to pick them up. She had gone silent on the comms. Hackett even metioned that she hadn't been able to finish a sentence, that she sounded tired, out of it, that her voice trailed off... Garrus squeezed his eyes shut. No. She hadn't died. Not Shepard. She activated the Crucible. She made the Reapers leave. For all he knew, she was still on the Citadel, or back on Earth, or out in space somewhere looking for them. That's just what she did.

And they were in a system with no Mass Relay. On what was apparently dubbed Planet Normandy. And their distress beacon could only signal so far.

His eyes wandered over to his workbench. The transmitter box was sitting there, James having given it to him anyway for when he was ready. The truth was, it was so damned silent here. Only what was needed to power the electronics was actually running, so the constant thrum of the engines, of the mass effect core, was distinctly lacking. He blinked slowly, swallowed a lump in his throat, and walked over to the table. He switched on the transmitter box after steeling himself, knowing that what he would see would still hurt. It would simply lack the element of unwanted surprise from earlier.

Shepard's image stuttered into view and became gradually sharper as the generating light warmed. She stood at parade rest, her face straight forward and expressionless.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite spot in the universe. Looking good, soldier."

Garrus wondered what all this VI had been programed with, how accurate it was intended to be. Given what he'd already heard, it pandered to the common public and was based on newsvid propaganda. There were a few ways to test that.

"Commander Shepard, what is the status of the Reaper threat?"

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

The same thing from earlier.

"What is your processing power?"

"I'm programmed to emulate the real Commander Shepard with 17% accuracy."

That didn't answer his question, but it did answer quite a few others. He switched off the transmitter and pulled out the memory chip. He held it up to the harsh white light of the workbench to get as good a look at it as possible. If all that was on this thing was an image of Shepard, a true-to-life rendering of her voice, and enough to make her be "17%" accurate. In other words, there was probably a hell of a lot of memory free that he could play around with. Well, _he_ couldn't. He knew guns not software. But there were other options.

He took the chip and walked over to his terminal and inserted it into the slot. The screen was suddenly filled with coding he only understood on a basic level. What he wanted took expert skill, and Tali was probably still somewhere in the Sol system.

"EDI."

"Yes, Garrus," the AI's voice crackled over the loudspeakers. Despite all the changes, she was still partially integrated with the ship.

"I'm trying to...upgrade this Shepard VI...make it better."

There was a moment of silence as the coding on his screen flashed up and down as if someone else were reading it at lightning speed.

"Just about any change made to this software would be an improvement," was EDI's terse reply. "I can scan the Normandy's memory banks, but it would still be an imperfect model. If you are trying to 'fill the void' as Jeff believes, I suggest considering something that would bring closure rather than causing further torment."

Garrus crossed his arms defiantly and stared up at the speaker, even though he never was completely sure if EDI could see as well as hear the different parts of the ship. "And what exactly would _you_ suggest?"

There was another pause, longer. The turian cleared his throat when it seemed that EDI had mentally wandered off.

"I can think of no satisfactory means for you to achieve closure in the situation regarding Commander Shepard," she said at last. Her voice was still measured and even, but that organic thread that was starting to course through it these days seemed to thicken it with feeling. "A more accurate VI, however, would somewhat simulate the Commander's presence. She would have a searchable memory archive and be able to hold some level of conversation."

"That's all I'm asking for," the turian replied, relaxing his stance a bit. "I think." He honestly wasn't sure why he was suddenly so intent on doing this. Activating the VI was just as bad—if not worse—than the dreams he'd been having. With this, he'd be exposing himself all day and all night, but a part of him thought it would help him work through it. The constant interaction with the VI might even dull the dreams, make them vanish. Maybe it was just his longing affecting him in such a way.

"Do it," he said finally with a sharp nod.

"Very well. Analyzing."

It took several minutes for EDI to scan through databanks and security footage, message archives and the AI's own experiences, but Garrus watched intently as the screen before him filled with new and even more complex coding. There was nothing to tell him what it all meant, but the more information he watched be poured in, the faster his heart pounded. It was not Shepard. It would never be Shepard. But Joker was right. He desperately needed to fill the void until they got some damned answers.

While EDI worked, Garrus went back to the calibrations, his hobby that bordered on obsession depending on the day. Lately, if he wasn't cleaning his guns, he was down here. And if he wasn't down here...well, that was a rare thing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been to his bunk. There was one night he'd tried to sleep in the Loft. He had just laid upon the bed, staring at the tank of exotic fish that somehow survived everything that had been thrown at them (they weren't kidding when they said that VI would take complete care of the aquarium). It was soothing in its own way, but it only made him more aware of Shepard's absence. The pillows and sheets still held her scent. Her officer's uniform was still haphazardly cast over the arm of a chair almost exactly as she'd left it.

"I believe I've done what I can." EDI's voice cut through his thoughts. "Should I stay online as you test it?"

Garrus shook his head. "No, you've done enough, EDI. ...Thank you."

"My pleasure, Garrus. I do advise exercising caution, however. It is still only a VI."

The turian didn't respond. He merely went back over to his workbench and inserted the chip back into the transmitter box. The program was a little slower to boot up, but the image of Shepard that generated was more accurate. She was the right size, her face sharper and showing better the signs of war-weariness. She was in her Alliance uniform and standing straight with her arms at her sides. Still expressionless, her eyes stared ahead of her, completely ignorant of the surroundings. Just a VI.

Garrus crossed his arms over his chest again. Standing directly in front of the Shepard VI, he put all his weight on one hip and cocked his head to the side. Were he facing down any other living thing, they might have perceived it as a challenge.

"What is your name and rank?" he asked. It was a simple question that even the previous version should have been able to answer...but only to a point.

"I am Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy and captain of the Normandy SR-2."

"Your first name, Commander."

The VI continued to stare but responded all the same. "I hate my first name. I was named for my grandmother, and she hated her name, too. So far as you're concerned, soldier, I'm Shepard. Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy and captain of the Normandy SR-2."

The turian's mandibles twitched, his jaw parting a little in what passed for a smile. No propaganda VI would have been programmed with that. In fact, he doubted most people that knew Shepard also knew that tiny little fact about her. She'd told him once over turian brandy with a suicide mission looming before them. Only once. But the Normandy—EDI—remembered.

"That's my girl." His voice broke and was barely above a whisper, but the VI nodded in return.

"What's the next mission?"

"Finding out where we are," he replied more strongly, heading back to the main battery. "And figuring out how to get back to the others." He looked around the curved mass of metal to where the VI stood, still staring vacantly out into the space in front of her. "And finding out what happened to you."


	3. An Earth and a Fleet

Everything lay in ruins. What was left of the human city of London was a smoking crater filled with rubble and metal scrap. Soldiers had long since turned from mopping up leftover Reapers to cleaning up what they could, drop ships converted into cargo freighters. The air was full of dust, and smoke plumed upward from wreckage that still smoldered. A full month and they had barely been able to control the fires. In an effort to do this, the whole power grid had been shut down.

The sun had broken through the haze just that morning, casting golden light on a hurting world. Small blessings.

"Creator Tali'Zorah, we have salvaged what we could of the Citadel."

The Geth Prime stood over the Quarian, his height still intimidating in the newness of the alliance. His red paint was badly scuffed and flaking. Blast marks left his armor plating charred and dented, and a hole near his hip was shooting sparks. Fresh battle wounds were not a rarity, and Tali knew there would be more. Off in the distance, a lone Banshee shrieked.

Tali ignored the shudder that went through her. "Did you find any sign of life or organic remains?" The distinction had to be made. Comm feeds from Anderson before the Citadel's explosion implied there were hundreds—if not thousands—of bodies aboard.

The Geth's facial lighting dimmed and flickered as if it were meant to emulate some form of expression. "Negative. No vitals were picked up by scanners. No biologicals survived the blast. There was no evidence of Shepard Commander or Anderson Captain."

Tali hung her head, her shoulders drooping in disappointment. Ground teams had scoured the area around the Conduit in case anyone had come back. The Geth swarmed upon the Citadel wreckage the moment the explosions stopped, collectively understanding the priority Shepard's life held with the Reaper ships intact. It didn't matter that the Old Machines retreated. They still existed. And, somehow, the Geth were the only ones with any sense about them in the immediate aftermath.

The Geth's head plates expanded outward and readjusted. Tali had learned from observing Legion that such was as close as Geth came to raising eyebrows.

"You are sad at this news," he observed. "Why?"

"I just...hoped there would be something left. We prepared for the worst. We even downloaded all the research data on the Lazarus Project from the Cerberus base because...because it worked the last time." Her hands clenched at her sides. "A selfish goal. Now, all that data is with EDI, and she's lost, too."

"I do not understand, Creator Tali'Zorah. Shepard Commander is not 'lost'. She is with us."

Tali's eyes flashed up to meet the lights through the violet haze of her mask. "Are you being metaphysical, Prime?"

"It is not metaphysics. That implies reasoning within unknowns, attributing reality to the purely conceptual." His head plates adjusted again. "What I say is simple fact. Shepard Commander is with us. She exists in our collective memory." He raised his own hand, looking down to analyze the commingling of machine and sinew, flexing his fingers as if in experimentation. "What we lack is the genetic material to rebuild her."

* * *

"Fucking _bitch_!" Jack slammed another shockwave into the ground before making a running dive for cover. The Banshee was phasing her way in a ball of biotic fury and the human, as angry and frustrated as she was, knew better than to stay in one place for long. She charged from one pile of rubble to another, hoping against hope that the lightning-quick abomination would be more focused on a destination than a target. Sometimes they got lucky like that.

What pissed her off was that these things were still floating around. There weren't any _more_ of them after the Citadel blew, but that didn't make them less a pain in the ass. The Banshee shrieked from the other side of the ruined courtyard, angry that her targeted prey was no longer where she'd anticipated, and Jack used that moment to swing her pistol over the pile of concrete she was hiding behind and take a few shots at the creature's head. Then threw a frag grenade for good measure. Then colorfully urged her teammates to "fucking take her down" before she could phase again. Pumped full of enough rounds to bring down the proverbial rhino, the Banshee screamed one last time before disintegrating into a pile of black ash.

Jack stood up when everything fell silent, checking her gun before holstering it. "Good work, everyone. Let's report back to Hackett and blow this hole."

They moved with what was left of Hammer, systematically clearing the streets of any remaining Reaper minions while a medical team moved behind to search for and treat any survivors. There was still so much work to do. London was huge, over a hundred miles at its wides point, and it was one of the most dense urban centers in the world. No wonder the Reapers had focused on it. Not only was it a rat's nest of humanity, but it had been a bastion of the Alliance, the hub of the global Embassy. The _Reapers had thought they were smart, didn't they_ , Jack mused as she hopped into a truck and bounced along the broken streets of the city center. _Fucking morons_. Tactically sound but forgetting that you just don't mess with anyone—not _anyone—_ on their home turf.

She heard a gurgling cry and looked up to see a bold husk charging them from the shadows. What it thought it could do against an armored truck, she had no idea...and didn't care. With an almost blasé gesture, she drew her gun, pulled the husk closer, smiling blandly as it hung there, helplessly in the air...then shot it through the head.

It had been a rough few weeks. The Citadel exploding, Shepard disappearing, the Reapers retreating while leaving the bulk of their minions behind—what that meant, no one knew. That said nothing for the morning Jack had woken up with the distinct impression that she had new tattoos, and she didn't remember getting new tattoos. Because she would have remembered. Especially if they were delicate, shimmery ones that looked like microchip circuitry. That would have hurt like a-

"Coming up on Hyde!"

The driver's voice jerked her attention to the front of the truck, and she staggered forward to the divider between his seat and the rest of the vehicle. She braced herself against the cold metal and narrowed her eyes to see through the dusty, cracked windshield. With all the chaos still going on in the city at large, Hyde Park had become a refuge, a massive encampment of survivors and occupying military from across the galaxy. For whatever reason, the remaining Reapers had preferred the stone and steel of the urban jungle to the swath of green grass, ancient trees, and deep water of the Serpentine. But no one was holding their breath. For as long as there were Reapers in any form, there was always a threat. They didn't know the numbers, didn't know the motivation in the Reaper ships leaving but the corrupted staying behind. Until the bastards were cleaned out or Shepard could be tracked down for answers, they were stuck roughing it and spending their days playing at war.

"Where's Hackett?" she demanded, spreading her feet for balance as they jerked and bounced over what had once been a stone wall.

"Comms have him at the Alliance basecamp, but he said to drop your team off here. Things are hot up that way."

Jack looked over her shoulder to the others, a few soldiers from the Alliance army and a couple of Asari commandos. It had taken what felt like forever to trust them. They weren't her students. The kids from the academy had been quickly pulled after the final push for the Conduit. They were better suited to helping protect the wounded further back while the Reapers were distracted. Jack had been moved to the front, providing barriers for the assault teams in charge of mopping up the stragglers. She'd put up a fight at first, but if there was one thing she'd learned from Shepard, is was that you sometimes had to do something you hated just to do the right thing at all.

Fuck, was she ever growing a conscience.

"Fine," she conceded eventually, watching as tents and barricades came into view. "Drop us off. But if things are so hot, Hackett would be smarter to want us with him. That Banshee has me in the mood to hurt something."

The driver smirked in the rear-view mirror. "Plenty of opportunity for that, ma'am. There's chatter that the north end of the Park is getting some action."

"Well, then, why don't you just be a good boy and take us there instead?" her voice was sweet and assertive at the same time. "I won't tell the admiral if you don't."

The smirk widened. "Yes, ma'am. The price for my silence is a pile of dead Reapers."

"That's too easy," she replied, a smile to match his. "Come up with something more exciting and you have a deal. In the meantime, just stay out of my way."


	4. Bewitched

He knew this place. The air was hot with life and generators that never stopped running. There was a constant _thrum_ of engines and ventilators, the buzz of electric lights, and the tinny murmur of the much-ignored galaxy news broadcasts. Garrus moved through the dim red and yellow lights, pushing his way through the crowd-humans, batarians, vorcha, and salarians all blending together into one maddening throng. Omega. It felt like home. But he couldn't say this was a good thing.

Garrus walked into the flames, not noticing the heat as he moved to the next set of doors. Music boomed. Asari snaked around poles up on the raised platform behind the bar, ignoring remarks shouted at them from drunk lowlifes below. He nodded to one of the turian bouncers and kept on moving, around the inner hub and up a set of stairs. He was heading for where Aria normally kept shop, and he wasn't quite sure why. There was a sense of need, not so much necessity but more like duty. He'd been summoned, so he was here.

The bodyguards were posted at their usual intervals. They casually held their rifles or rested hands on pistols and didn't seem to pay him any mind as he passed. At the top of the last flight, he was totally expecting the usual hand to the chest, a quick scan, a needless argument of identity just to prove that he wasn't here as Archangel and nor was he a threat. To his surprise, the couches of the upper platform were empty. No Aria. No guards. Instead, a human woman sat off to one side, her dark hair bound up into a thick bun at the back of her head, her Alliance officer uniform looking black in the unnatural light. There was a glass of an amber liquid in her hand with a small table beside her holding another glass and a couple of corked bottles.

"I expected you earlier."

There was no, "Hey, how are you?" No rushing to her feet to tackle him with a hug...and maybe a kiss if she felt so inclined. Shepard just sat there, looking at her glass instead of him, a line of concentration creasing her brow.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "I didn't expect this to be the bar in heaven."

That brought a smile to her lips as she tilted her drink back. "It's not. But it _is_ Afterlife, so I thought it appropriate enough for now."

"Oh...okay." His voice was slow, cautious. He turned his head so that he was looking at her without his visor in the way. He'd seen her so much in his dreams, but this was definitely the first time she'd spoken to him directly. So often, he was an obscure third-party observer. But this? Aside from an uncomfortable feeling of vertigo, he could have sworn he were really standing in the heart of Omega.

"But I'm glad you came," Shepard went on, gesturing to a space of empty couch beside her. "I wasn't sure you would."

Garrus simply blinked at her as he took a seat. He couldn't recall having much choice in the matter, not that he would have denied her, anyway. He didn't care how much his brain was playing tricks on him at this point. An opportunity to even think he was talking to Shepard was not one he was keen on wasting.

"I'm always here for you, Shepard. You know that."

She smiled. Her eyes finally turned to take him in, the gray full of warmth and weariness all at once. She was still tired, just like she had been the night before the Cerberus base. He'd stayed with her through the nightmares. Now, it was her turn. Her hand reached over and clasped his, her five fingers weaving between his three.

"You don't have to worry about me," she said gently, her quiet voice still somehow carrying over the noise. "I'm fine."

"Where are you?" he asked, more urgently than he'd intended. He hoped the answer wasn't going to be his mind making something up. "The Citadel? Earth?"

Shepard shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I remember the Citadel last but..." her eyes narrowed as she looked off into the middle distance, some nondescript point under the floor. "But there's a lot of Geth chatter. I'm going to be a bit pissed if it turns out that I'm dead, and that's what I'll deal with for eternity."

It was half a joke, but neither of them laughed. Shepard being dead again had crossed his mind more than once, but for once, just once, he wanted his own desire to trump that of fate and the universe. For a while, they just sat there, hand in hand and letting the booming music of the club reverberate through them both. It wasn't the most calming of atmospheres, and it definitely hadn't been where he'd ever expected to find Shepard...ever...but here they were.

Shepard suddenly inhaled a deep breath and stood, letting go of him and stepping over to the balcony edge to where she could see the entire floor below, the massive sign for Afterlife glowing above her head.

"This isn't what I'd had in mind," she said, studying the scene around them for a brief moment before raising her hand. She appeared to brush it against a flat yet invisible surface. There was nothing there, but Garrus stared in wonder when the air shimmered and seemed to pixelate from her touch. Shepard drew her hand back, quirked a smile, and touched a single finger to that same place in the air. There was a small ripple effect and a sudden rush of air. The thunder of the club vanished in a swirl of light and color, and everything around them changed.

Garrus got up to have a look. What had once been the dim-lit and dingy Afterlife was now a bright hall of white marble and chrome. The stairways curved elegantly like he'd seen in classic Earthvids, and the patrons—though still each their own species—were dressed in clothes not worn in over a century so far as humans were concerned. The women wore floor-length gowns of sweeping fabrics adorned with various tiny bits of glass or metal that made them glitter and shine. The men wore three-piece suits of black and white with bows at their throats. Tuxedos, if he recalled what Joker told him. They sat around at dining tables, chatting happily, or danced together on the dance floor to the impressive sound of a live band performing with brass and strings. The musicians were on a raised stage in the middle of the dance floor, and prominent among them was a black and glossy grand piano.

"That's better."

He turned to see Shepard dressed like the others. Her uniform was gone and replaced by a sleeveless gown of a pale blue gauzy silk. It hugged her form to her waist before belling outwards in elegant folds. Clear jewels dazzled from her throat and ears but were nothing in comparison to her smile. His heart swelled, fluttered in his chest, and when he puffed his lungs up with a calming breath, he noticed that he, too, was now dressed in one of those tuxedos, a small red rose tucked through the lapel.

"Care to dance with me?"

"Shepard...you know you... You know you can't dance. And neither can I."

She laughed lightly, a sound he was definitely sure he hadn't heard in years, and she took him by the arm and led him away from the railing. With her skirt lifted in one hand, they descended the stairs together. "I've learned a lot since I've been here. Dancing is nothing." She turned to him, one hand in his and the other resting on his shoulder after she saw that his arm was properly about her waist. Then, with a wink, she turned her head slightly toward the piano.

"Play it, Samara."

Garrus stared in wonder for a moment as fingers deftly swept over ivory keys in elegant arpeggios. The notes were soon joined by a rich alto as beautiful as the asari that carried it, her body clad in a fitted gown of black velvet. She smiled warmly at the turian around the lyrics, her brilliant blue eyes shining.

_She's a fool, and don't I know it,_

_But a fool can have her charms._

_I'm in love and don't I show it,_

_Like a babe in arms._

Shepard led the way at first, helping Garrus to find the tempo and murmuring the simple steps. With every beat, her hips swayed beneath his hand, and he quickly found himself not caring whether he could actually dance or not.

_Love's the same old, sad sensation._

_Lately, I've not slept a wink,_

_Since this half-pint imitation_

_Put me on the blink._

"I don't know this song," he whispered as they slowly moved their way around the stage. "It's...nothing I've ever heard before."

Shepard was all smiles. "Frank Sinatra," she replied, allowing herself to be spun about and caught back up again. "Earthborn over two hundred years ago. My father was fond of him."

"I see." Garrus was quickly caught up in it, his movements easy and free and Shepard positively fluid in his arms. Other couples gave them free reign of the floor as Samara's voice rang through the air with a sound undeniably pure and supported by the piano and strings. There was the faint smell of flowers on the air that did not belong to the lily centerpieces. It was spicier, like if he tasted it, it would send a tingle all the way through him. It reminded him a little of home. Out of curiosity, he bent closer to Shepard, inhaling to take in the scent of her hair. Cenolias. His mother used to grow them. And his sister after her.

_Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep._

_Love came and told me I shouldn't sleep._

_Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I._

"You look stunning, you know," he said lowly. "I used to be jealous of Kasumi. She's the only one that's ever seen you in a dress."

Shepard laughed. "It wasn't much to look at at the time. I rather hated that dress." She moved in closer and lifted her mouth as close to his ear opening as she could. "But I still have it if you're curious."

_Lost my heart, but what of it?_

_She is cold, I agree._

_She can laugh, but I love it._

_Although the laugh's on me._

Garrus felt his whole world grow hot. Shepard's breath against his face, her body so close to his. The scent of her cenolia perfume teasing him beyond all reasonable parameters. Moving with the song, he bowed low, cradling Shepard in his arms as she arched gracefully backward. Her head came back up slowly, his lowering further. His eyes closed in anticipation of her soft human lips.

Their touch never came. The dream faded while still held in thrall of a powerful tenor. Not Samara. This was a man's voice.

_I'll sing to her, bring spring to her,_

_And long for the day when I'll cling to her._

Garrus flung his hand to the side of the bed, shutting off Shepard's old alarm clock that she had apparently set to play music when it went off. He hadn't thought of that when he switched it on before collapsing into bed. Silence fell. The only light was the soft blue of the aquarium. The only sound was the filtration system and the gentle hum of the Normandy's vents.

Still groggy, the turian was in no mood to abandon his dream so soon, the first properly good one he'd had since before the attempt to take back Earth. And he still thought he smelled the perfume, the warmth of her hand in his.

_Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I._


	5. Brothers in Arms

James paused at the elevator doors. The moment they opened, the space was flooded with sound. The mess hall echoed with music he hadn't heard since...well, since he was a kid back on Earth. Turning the corner, he found the mess empty and the doors to the main battery wide open. Machine parts were strewn through the corridor, and he was pretty damned sure he could hear Garrus singing along to "Call Me Irresponsible."

The marine poked his head into the battery for a cursory glance. The Shepard VI was switched on and projecting from EDI's old AI platform. Not from the transmitter box. It was looking at him like it knew he was there, sharp eyes focus, face expressionless. All he needed was-

"Lieutenant Vega reporting."

-that. He thought he knew how Garrus had felt the week before, now. Hearing Shepard's voice like she was standing right there was enough to scare the piss out of even the most seasoned soldier. And Vega was seasoned. He'd faced down Reapers and won. Three Brutes all at once...though he owed that more to a utility belt full of grenades...but he wasn't about to tell anyone that.

"EDI, volume!" The music diminished almost immediately as Garrus came up from the lower level wiping grime from his hands with a rag. He was dressed in turian casuals, clothes that did very little to distinguish themselves from battle armor in cut and style. There was probably a reason for it—in the shape of freakish collarbones—but what did he know?

"I came to see if you wanted to go for a hike," James said, leaning casually against the door jamb with his hands in his pockets. "EDI found a higher point of elevation within walking distance."

Garrus tossed the rag onto his workbench. "And what does an AI with mechanical legs consider walking distance?"

"Ten miles and a cliffside climb."

"Cortez doesn't have the shuttle running yet, does he?"

"Nope."

"Figures." The turian took a look around the battery to sort out the mess he had made. "I was looking for parts. Anything unnecessary that we might be able to use for something else." His eyes took on an almost pained expression. "A lot of it is from the Cerberus upgrades."

James knelt to sort through one of the piles. Most of it was basic hardware, but there were enough bits and pieces to build a whole gun. Or fit the shuttle with a better one. "Steve is going to have a field day with this," he commented with a grin.

"EDI's been feeding him a running inventory. He was already up here pretty much foaming at the mouth to get his hands on something, but I told him to wait a while. Sam had already told me she had a few ideas so—unfortunately for Steve—she's got first dibs."

The marine tutted. "Is that why he was pacing like he were waiting for the world to end again?"

"Probably," Garrus replied with a shrug. "Could be more that he wants something to keep him busy than anything else." He looked to the Shepard VI. "Can't say that I blame him."

James got back to his feet. "Exactly. Which is why I came to find you _just_ for this. You need to get out, away from the battery, away from the Normandy, and away from _that_." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the VI in emphasis. "I worry about you, and more than a little of that comes from the fear that you're going a little _loco_. I mean...Frank Sinatra. Really?"

Garrus shrugged again. "Did you know Shepard had a ridiculously extensive music collection? Most of it was her father's, I think. And just about all of it should be in a museum." He typed something into his terminal and music started to play out of those speakers only. It wasn't Sinatra. This was different, an old and tinny recording. A melody was being played on what sounded like metal strings stretched over a pie tin.

_I takes a worried man to sing a worried song._

_I'm worried now, but I won't be worried long._

To the human's shock (and horror, possibly), the turian started singing along to the trio of easy tenors with fingers drumming away at the work bench in time to the beat. Stepping forward, James simultaneously clamped a hand on his friend's shoulder and canceled the classic recording.

"Like I said. _Loco_. Get your gear—we're going."

They packed light but took precaution to be ready for a few days if necessary. Bedrolls, rations, they even armored up a bit just in case they met something unsavory in the deeper jungle. James went for his N7 greaves and a t-shirt. Garrus donned his full suit minus the helmet. It was designed to be light and keep him cool and shielded from just about everything. Turians weren't just prepared for anything because they had a focus on martial skills. They were from Palaven, a planet that by all rights shouldn't properly support life. Born prepared. Raised to expect anything. Garrus jammed a thermal clip home and holstered his assault rifle, carefully choosing a sniper from the rack in the shuttle bay. James gave him a couple of odd looks and the gentle reminder that they weren't going off to war again. The turian just looked at him, recalibrated his omni-tool, and headed outside.

Samantha Traynor was standing by Steve near the shuttle. It was propped up on rocks and military-grade crates in order to be better serviced from underneath. The grass was trampled around their work zone from the repeated foot traffic, and tools were strewn all over the place. The two engineers were talking, arms crossed and faces serious, as they assessed the damage and what they had to work with. The truth was that it wasn't much. They knew it. They all knew it. And even with all the parts in the galaxy, they still had limited fuel supply and no idea where to go to find a Mass Relay.

"Yo, Esteban, you get the beacon for us?"

Steve turned, looking slightly irritated at first but softened when he saw Garrus walking beside James. "Yeah, I got it. Did you seriously think sticking it up that tree was going to do any good?"

James made a dismissive gesture. "You said put it somewhere high. That sycamore-looking thing was the best option at the time."

"Yeah, well. I guess that's what I get for asking a jarhead to do anything." Steve's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's over by the med kits. Make sure to put it somewhere smart this time."

"That's what he's got me for," Garrus put in wryly, saluting a little. He turned to James when the other came back with the beacon's transmitter box. "I take it EDI's got all the instructions?"

The marine shook his head. "Already passed them on. She even managed to come up with some kind of map thanks to scans the ship was able to take. They're from our level, though, so things get sketchy a couple of miles out and the higher up we go." Truth was, all they had were elevation shifts. Nothing really for particular landmarks, the jungle itself, or any potential bodies of water. They were roughing it in a way neither really had to in a long while, and this was definitely not anything close to familiar just yet. They'd kept themselves limited to within a half-mile of basecamp. Ten unfamiliar miles was a long way to go in broad daylight let alone shadows and darkness.

When they had everything squared away, they set out, heading in a northerly direction toward a thickly forested mountain EDI had pegged as being the highest point in the region. Only one part of it was barren, a sheer wall of rock that was viewable even from this distance. A walk and a climb. That was the plan.

And they had no choice but to carry it out.


	6. High Hopes

"Everyone is doing a fantastic job," Admiral Hackett stood on a raised platform to address as many of the Earth-bound troops as he could. Gunfire still echoed in the distance, joined by the bloodcurdling cries of the Reaper husks. They had gotten through another day, and there were definitive signs that the enemy numbers were dwindling. "It has been a long month for all of us, longer when you consider how much we had to prepare. I wanted to make sure that each and every one of you—no matter race, color, clan, creed, planet of origin, or bubblegum flavor-knew how important your contribution has been, how significantly you've helped, and how much the galaxy owes you—each and every one of you—its very existence. Damned fine job, people! Damned fine!"

His words became drowned out in the thunder of cheering. Battle-weary soldiers and civilian volunteers alike whistled and clapped, trilled, and shouted. They had taken Earth back. They knew this. Straggler husks aside, they knew this. And this was their day. Their victory.

But it was still not over.

The remnants of Shepard's squad had managed to find each other in the chaos. Jack was cheering and whooping with the crowd, Wrex beside her beating his fists together. Tali stayed back and watched the spectacle with silent skepticism. She worried that the celebrating was premature, but she also knew the value of boosting morale. She had seen the reports. Millions were dead before the army had arrived. Thousands of soldiers fell soon after. Samara and Jacob had been numbered among the dead, both fighting to the last thermal round to hold a barricade between base camp and the enemy. They had gone down fighting. They gave the sacrifice of heroes. Grunt was the only one not present, and for as long as there were gunshots tat-tatting in the north, the quarian was hopeful the krogan youth was alright.

She heard the Geth Prime come up next to her. His omnitool was activated and blazing through rows and rows of symbols and data. His eyelights analyzed the display while Tali looked on, gleaning what she could from the Reaper-augmented Geth programming.

"We have located her presence on the server," he said, his head slowly turning to her. "We await further instructions."

Tali continued to look at the coding. The Prime slowed down the display for her benefit as she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing behind her mask. What she saw made little sense to her. But the small bit she could make out showed that Shepard was, indeed, part of the Geth collective...but as a _program_ rather than a simple memory. Had she been so preserved after her visit to Rannoch? Or was it something else entirely?

Tali tore her eyes from the omnitool display to examine her own hand, a shimmering tracing running along every inch. They were all like this, now. Human, quarian, krogan, turian—even the geth were covered in delicate circuitry that looked every part the machine but behaved every bit the organic. She glanced up as the crowd broke for mess, taking the chance for a meal as also a chance to celebrate the official turning of the war still being fought. It was not yet a clear victory, but they could taste it.

The quarian turned back to the Geth Prime. "I need you to log me in."

"Creator Tali'Zorah, that will require transport to a ship in orbit."

"Just get me in, Prime." Her tone was short but tired. Frustration came through that was clearly meant to be directed elsewhere. "I have a feeling that our future is in your programming, and I need to get it out."

* * *

She found herself on the seashore, a sudden and drastic shift from the cold metal and dim track lighting of the geth's server access. It was brilliantly sunny and humid like Tali had never before experienced. Even jungle planets felt different. The breeze was cool on her face and smelled of salt. It was with a gasp that her hands flew to her gaunt, leathery cheeks.

No mask.

She looked down. No suit, either. Instead, the quarian wore a white sundress trimmed in eyelet lace, her arms and feet bare. She wiggled her toes in the sand. This was the server, she reminded herself. There was no way she could get sick or die...or even really be here. Wherever here was supposed to be.

"There you are!"

Tali was startled by the voice even more than she was horrified at her current state. Turian brandy—where was the bar when she needed one? Shepard was walking toward her in a black swimsuit with a towel tucked about her waist. In her arms was a small child, krogan, trying to show her a bit of broken seashell.

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out. The geth keep fixing my more outlandish anomalies."

"Shepard, you're...you're a program." It felt stupid to state the obvious, but there it was. There was no end to how ridiculous Tali could make herself feel.

"So are you right now," Shepard replied with a wily grin. "It is what it is. No sense being scared of it. How are the others?" She smoothly raised a hand to keep little krogan fingers out of her eyes.

Tali shrugged. "We lost Samara and Jacob. Grunt is...still fighting we think. The Normandy is completely MIA." She gestured to her friend. "What about you? How did you get here?"

"I've really never felt better," was the borderline-dismissive response. "We've been building all sorts of things—haven't we, Ashley?"

"Yep!" the little krogan piped up, free leg swinging. "Sand citadels and digging for thresher maws!"

Tali couldn't help but grin, sharp teeth gleaming. But it was almost completely wiped from her face when two other children shoved their way past her, laughing and squealing as they kicked up sand in their merry chase.

"So sorry," a rapid and panting voice said as a salarian went dashing by. "Juvenile human-turian hybrids. Impossible, really. Amino-acids all wrong. Regardless, hard to keep up with." He gave a small salute and continued on his way.

"Mordin?" Tali breathed in disbelief. Her piercing eyes focused on Shepard.

"The human woman no longer looked so carefree. Her expression was drawn, and even the krogan had become lethargic in her arms.

"And that's about the point when I realized I was dead," she commended softly, heaving a sigh. "Impossible dreams."

Tali caught herself shaking her head back and forth, back and forth, in denial of what she wasn't certain. Shepard was a program, one grossly aware of the perceived current state of things. What did the geth know? Was their collective memory influencing this fictional scenario? But whatever this was was clearly full of private thoughts, something no geth could have concocted even with Reaper sentience.

This all came from Shepard. It had to.

For Shepard to have such a consciousness as a program, she couldn't be dead. Could she?

_Could she?_


	7. The Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I didn't mean to drop this story as long as I did. A couple of Dragon Age fics took over that blew up massively more than I expected them to, and life took over from there. To those that have been waiting for me to finally update this thing, I'm really sorry. I still remember where I wanted to take this, and I'm going to get it there. However, for this chapter at least, I also apologize if the characters have fallen out of character in any way. I realized when I sat down to start tackling this again that it's been two years since I've even touched Mass Effect at all let alone the emotional trauma of ME3. I haven't seen the new ending, and I've not touched any of the DLC. This fic is going to reflect that.

"This has to be the most boring planet I've ever been to in my whole life."

Garrus couldn't help but chuckle as James plopped down on the ground beside him. They had been forced to take cover when the rain started. That was another thing they apparently had to get used to, now. It didn't just rain here. The precipitation came in sudden, pelting torrents that could last minutes or hours. This particular downpour had already lasted beyond the thirty minutes the human soldier was willing to allow it.

"You _did_ get to shoot something," Garrus said placatingly with a nod to the carcass of a strange furry creature that James said reminded him of an opossum mingled with a platypus. The turian had no idea what either of those things were, but he hoped the meat they got out of it once he was done skinning and roasting it would be nutritious enough. Flavor was immaterial at this point.

"I'm not actually complaining," James clarified, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the stone wall of the shallow cave they had found. His brown eyes were fixed on the fire that looked weak and pathetic against the backdrop of deluge. "So far, it's been kind of like an extended shore leave...but shore leave usually involves a populated area, a lot of drinking, and at least a few ladies that might actually be interested and flirt back. Sam and Doc Chakwas?" He pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't do that to them even if they agreed to humor me. I'll survive without all that, but the feeling is still weird. We came out of the warzone of millenia-to _what_? The biggest game I've seen was about as tall and as skittish as a deer on Earth. We haven't been ambushed since London. I actually think I might miss being ambushed. It could be by anything. Even a lone vorcha would be a nice change. "

The turian shrugged and worked at gutting the...platy-possum. Someone more qualified would surely give it a proper name. He had spread its skin over a rock nearby. This wasn't exactly a time to waste anything, even if one had absolutely no idea as to what to do with something. The mottled brown and white fur sparked no particular inspiration other than reminding him of a variety of things he'd seen in old Earthvids. Regardless, it couldn't hurt. They still had no idea if this planet had anything like winter where warm furs would be a necessity.

"It's going to take us all some time to adjust." Garrus knew he was reassuring himself just as much as his companion. "And it won't just be the lack of action." _Or lack of Shepard._

"Yeah…."

James' voice trailed off as he lifted a hand to his face. He turned it over and tilted it in different directions as if to see whether the faint marks upon his flesh were catching the light of the fire or generating a luminescence of their own.

They fell silent for a while, then. It wasn't uncomfortable, each of them being lost to their own thoughts. The rain provided a comforting sort of white noise and the fire crackled and popped as it consumed the wood they'd been able to retrieve before everything got too wet. Garrus skewered the cleaned game meat on a makeshift spit and braced it against the stone ring of the fire pit. There was no way it would cook well enough to be eaten before nightfall, and it didn't look like the rain was going to let up before then, either. He didn't even need to communicate this to James. The human set about unpacking his bedroll as soon as the first sizzle of grease was heard.

The sky darkened. The rain didn't stop. From their vantage point, Garrus and James could see the lights from the Normandy midway down the mountain slope. This particular vantage point gave them a much better view of the surrounding environs: the massive river that tightly wound its way through a valley several miles to the south; a chain of mountains worn down by time and weather, covered in foliage but no less majestic that stretched away to the northeast; the flat horizon line of a large body of water-possibly an ocean-barely visible beyond the foothills on the far side of the valley.

It was a beautiful planet-at least this part of it. They had passed some flowering vines on the hike up that had a rich, sweet smell to them. Waterfalls cascaded down in intervals as though several smaller streams fed the snakelike river below. The water was fresh, clean, and cool, and the lushness of everything had its own appeal. But hadn't Jacob's father found a similar paradise? Garrus scowled as he turned the platy-possum meat. Would there be something in the air? In the flora and fauna? Would there be some microscopic bacterium that would take them unawares and slowly drive them mad or worse?

Garrus tried not to think about it. He already knew the bitter taste of madness, and it was not something he was keen on knowing interminably. The augmentations to the VI already had started to act like a balm on a war wound, and, someday, he'd get used to the scar it left behind.

They ate after darkness fell outside. The rain had eased but still fell steadily, and James made a comment that he was surprised the meat didn't taste like chicken.

"Is it supposed to taste like chicken?" Garrus asked, passing over some field rations to balance out the meal a little better.

James shrugged. "On Earth, most things taste like chicken...except sometimes chicken. This…" his brow furrowed as he studied the stringy meat clinging to the bone gripped in his fingers, "this reminds me more of the rabbit my _abuela_ would make. Hers tasted better, though. Spices."

"Maybe Liara will identify some," Garrus replied as he held his own portion under his nose to take in the scent. He was still hesitant to believe that his growling stomach would digest such a thing despite the evidence that his diet, like everyone else's, was changing.

"Yeah. And maybe we'll all go home."

* * *

The climb wasn't as difficult as they had expected it to be. EDI had told them that the gravitational pull was slightly less than that of Earth and other planets that they had been to in the past, but until the vertical ascent, they hadn't really noticed the difference. The challenge came when the pair realized they needed to better pace themselves so that they didn't accidentally attempt a sprint to the top. There was no place to rest along the way, either, save to hang suspended by ropes and carabiners. Neither was much inclined. The day had dawned clear with a surprising lack of humidity, which kept their spirits high.

"Yo, _jefe_ ," James called over at one point when it looked like they had less than twenty meters to go. "I'm not sure if you're rubbing off on me or what, but-" he stopped just long enough to drive home another stake "-but last night, I had the craziest dream." He hooked his carabiner and moved upward carefully one handhold at a time. "The Commander showed up and was asking me if I knew where we were."

"Shepard?"

"The one and only." James laughed with a breath of irony. "It was surreal, man. We met up at Purgatory for drinks. And by 'met up' I mean that it seriously felt like it was planned, that we had made some sort of previous arrangement, and I _knew_ this."

Garrus froze as he was for an instant, recalling quite keenly that he'd had the same sensation when he dreamed he'd gone to Afterlife on Omega.

"I got there before she did. Some of the guys I used to drink with were there, and we were just...talking about things...things like the Reapers being gone and how the galaxy was going to bounce back like nothing happened. That's _mierda de toro_ , of course, but whatever. The Commander shows up all N7 swagger and joins right in like it's nothing. She asks how I am. She asks how _you_ are. She asks how EDI is _feeling_ , and then- _then_ she asks where we are. We as in the Normandy-we. I figured I'd be a wiseass and tell her the obvious answer: that we were in Purgatory on the Citatel, and we had drinks that were going to waste.

"'No,' she says. 'You're not in the galaxy anymore, James. Where are you?' If it was my subconscious getting all existential and shit, I don't know, but she kept _pushing_ , you know? It was like she was really there somehow and actually asking me, trying to get an answer out of me that I didn't have."

Garrus made no reply. He kept his thoughts to himself until they reached the top and were clear of the edge. The actual crest of the mountain curved away a little higher to the north of them, but the place they found themselves was plenty high and clear enough for the beacon. Garrus pulled the device out of his pack and set it on the ground to start getting it set up for transmission.

_You're not in the galaxy anymore, James._

Those words chilled him, and he had to keep his breathing measured and deep just so that his hands wouldn't shake. Without even stopping to think about it, Garrus set the signal to be the absolute highest it would go, blasting their distress call in the largest radius possible. He didn't know what was out there that might pick it up. In that moment, he didn't care.

After the beacon came online, James and Garrus stayed just long enough to inhale some field rations before they rappelled back down the cliff face. There was no actual reason to hurry back, but neither seemed to be in the mood to leisurely wander the wilderness or otherwise be out longer than they needed to be. It was on the way back that Garrus tried to find out if there was any more to the dream James had, if Shepard said anything, did anything, had anyone else with her.

"Not really. Why?"

"I can't decide if it's a hunch or wishful thinking." Garrus paused long enough to pick up a sample of that flowering vine to see if Liara or Doctor Chakwas could learn anything about it. Its bloom was large and complex, looking to be three different anemone-like flowers all nested within each other, each a different but no less vibrant color. "Your dream sounds a lot like the one I had the other night, only Shepard and I met at Afterlife."

"The bar on Omega?"

The turian nodded. "There was one thing about it that has been nagging at me-apart from the obvious. In the conversation we had, I asked her where _she_ was. She told me she didn't know but that there was a lot of geth chatter."

"Geth chatter?" James' expression became incredulous. "You know, my mom used to tell me that when loved ones die they'll contact us soon after...or that we'll dream that they do for closure's sake." One dark eyebrow rose as he looked over at his friend. "Since when is geth chatter of any comfort to you?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. I've been playing everything through my head over and over, trying to think of every possibility, even the ones we might not understand. Cerberus brought Shepard back from the dead once already...and they just needed charred bone fragments to do it. They could do it again. But the geth chatter...she went into the geth hivemind to help Legion. Her consciousness was bonded with theirs."

James stopped walking at that point, turning to face Garrus head on with a look that conveyed far more than his tone. "You think we're getting geth chatter all the way out here in the middle of...wherever the hell we are?"

"Maybe, because it's exactly that. We don't know where the hell we are. We don't know what's happening to us." He held up his hand in emphasis with the tiny tendrils of what looked like circuitry glinting in the sun. "What if the Commander is alive and trying to find us? And even if...even if she isn't, what if her time inside the geth collective left an imprint? A memory? What if they're trying to contact us _through_ her?"

"If that's the case," James replied, taking a deep breath and swallowing back whatever else he had been about to say, "we better hope someone picks up on that beacon soon."

They kept up the fastest pace they could to get back to the camp before nightfall. The others kept as many lights on for them in anticipation, the lot of them sitting out front of the Normandy's boarding ramp, collected around a bonfire that was as high as Joker could make it.

"Mission accomplished?" the pilot called over when he saw Garrus and James approach.

"Mission accomplished," James confirmed with a nod as he set about relieving himself of his pack and weaponry. "So far as the beacon is concerned anyway."

"The beacon was the whole mission," EDI put in from where she sat near the fire. A stick was in her hand, but if she had been roasting something, it was long gone.

James looked over to where Garrus had gone into the Normandy airlock to take care of his own equipment. "I had been hoping the hike would be good for him...clear his head. But I had to go and bring up that I had a dream about the Commander last night, and all it did was set him off again."

"We all had dreams about the Commander last night," Joker replied. His stance was casual, but there was something in his voice that snapped James' attention back, dark eyes locking on pale. "We were just talking about it, comparing stories. I'd say we were all just homesick or missing her, but everything was a little too _vivid_ for that. Not to mention...EDI's never actually had a dream in her life."

"It was not something stored in my memory core. This was a new event, different. We were on the Citadel."

"We were all on the Citadel," Liara added. "Each of us in a different place but all with the Commander. And she asked us-each of us-where we were."

James spun back in the direction of the Normandy and made a dash up the stairs. He grabbed Garrus by the shoulder to force him to turn.

"What did you dream last night?" he demanded. "Did you have another dream about the Commander like I did?"

Garrus shook his head.

"You didn't dream anything like you have been?"

"You have to actually be asleep to dream. Sometimes, I'd just rather not."

And the turian left him and moved deeper into the ship, making his reflexive way back to the sanctuary of the main battery and whatever solace he could find there.


	8. Reclamation

Jack moved through the corridor with uncharacteristic caution. The geth had found an abandoned Alliance frigate still in Earth orbit that scans revealed might still have "adequate facilities." Clarification came later from Tali when she had approached Jack privately to ask for help. There was a functioning medbay, she said, one with equipment necessary for an experiment she was working on. The only problem was that the frigate was crawling with mechs, ones that had apparently gone rogue and attacked their human counterparts not long after the Citadel exploded.

For two months, everyone had been busy with clean-up of London just so that they could have a stable base of operations. The only reason why Hackett had even approved Jack leaving planetside to check out this bit of not-quite-wreckage was the fact that Reaper presence in the city was believed to be at a minimum. Moving rubble and other debris with her biotics didn't have nearly the appeal as blasting things to smithereens did. This was the compromise. Jack wasn't stupid. She knew that Tali's suggestion came as an alternative to the biotic getting bored and causing more harm than good, especially as her students were still lending aid where they could.

She could do some good here. Of that she was certain. A single shockwave down this corridor alone had eradicated the LOKI mechs patrolling it with ease. The YMIR mech at the far end was a separate issue.

"Small One, get down!"

Jack didn't hesitate. She quickly took cover as Grunt went storming past her, lining up a concussive shot to shatter the robot's armor. His aim was true, and there was the satisfying sizzle of frying circuits.

"It's gonna blow!"

They both hunkered down in anticipation of what was to come. A high-pitched whine that bordered on a shriek reverberated off the metal walls that confined them, and Jack couldn't resist the urge to cover her ears. At last, the blast came, shrapnel flying down the corridor and pinging off the walls and ceiling. When the barrage stopped, Grunt nudged the woman that it was safe for them to stand again.

Jack's eyes immediately went to the charred wreckage of the YMIR where it lay beneath a massive black scorch mark burned upon the wall. The heavy and angular limbs twitched as electrical sparks continued to pop and fly. A pale, greasy substance pooled upon the floor beneath it. Grunt shot the thing one last time in the central core as if to make sure it wouldn't get up again.

"Was it just me...or did that thing scream before it blew?" The woman's eyes went from the faint hint of iridescent green upon the white surface of what remained of the mech to the same pattern now etched into her own skin. Maybe letting Tali convince her into taking a sip of turian brandy before riding the shuttle up here was a really bad idea. It was supposed to have been bracing, the quarian insisting that Jack's stomach could handle it. Her stomach had weathered it just fine. Her perception might not have.

"They've all been screaming," Grunt replied in an almost disinterested tone as he moved to manually force open the door in front of them. Its own circuits had gotten fried in the blast, rendering the mechanism useless. "We started noticing it near that place you humans call Piccadilly Circus. A bunch of mechs had holed up there like they were defending it. We never did find out who was controlling them...because no one was."

"So the mechs just up and decided to take a defensive position? Against what?"

Grunt shouldered his way through hanging debris. The corridor beyond where they had just been was in much worse shape as if it had taken damage from external hull damage. It wasn't much further to the medbay according to the schematics, but they might have to find themselves an alternate route if this chosen path proved impassable.

"Husks, other mechs, us." Grunt shrugged and primed his assault rifle. "Especially us."

* * *

"The primary memory bank of Shepard Commander has revealed no new information."

Geth Prime had himself partially hooked up to the mainframe of the geth ship they had grounded shortly after Hyde Park had been deemed a truly safe zone. Other geth were diligently working to fix the structural damage to the entire ship while Tali and her team, comprised of Geth Prime and a small handful of quarian engineers, worked to get the computer systems fully online again. More than that, Tali was using the computing power of the geth ship to dig as deeply as she could into the Citadel records she had at her disposal to learn everything extant about what might have happened after the Reapers had taken control.

"There's got to be something, Prime," she replied. "My dreams, your dreams-and you have access to Shepard in a way that no one else does. There's got to be _something_ she can tell us."

"We have learned no more than you, Creator Tali'Zorah," Geth Prime replied with a twist of his head so that his eyelights were able to take her in. "She is conscious within us. She is aware. But she has no tangible memory after witnessing Anderson Captain be shot by the Illusive Man."

Tali rubbed at her eyes. It had been Shepard's urging in one of the now-familiar vivid dreams that the quarians make the attempt to acclimate to Earth's atmosphere and biology. It had taken days more for Tali to even garner the courage to try, remembering her bold move on Rannoch and deciding (after exhaustive sampling and testing of local particulates) to let faith have its chance. Without proper transport, there was no getting back to Rannoch, anyway. There was not enough left of the Flotilla to support all remaining quarian life. Whether they lived or died rested on a hope and a dream.

Shepard hadn't been wrong. Tali found breathing outside of her suit a little more difficult and would still replace her mask from time to time, but she could see that adjustment was possible. Sometimes there was lightheadedness. Sometimes it was worse, dizziness and nausea, and once she had almost blacked out from pushing herself too hard.

All of that made her convinced that Shepard was still _alive_ somewhere. For her to be strictly a program meant she was getting all her intel from geth observation and interaction, but what Tali was learning in her dreams meant that such couldn't be the only answer. Shepard had a very odd sort of omniscience, but it was greatly hindered in certain situations. She didn't know where she was, how she got there, or even how the situation might be resolved. She was caught somewhere between life and death, it seemed, and only just beyond reach.

"Help me search these data archives, then," Tali said at last. She was tired. She'd been staring at log after log from the Citadel computers in hopes that something would hint at something else that might link them to anything they could use to learn what had happened to Shepard. If program she was, they might need to defragment what was available. Tali made a face. It was hard to think of a human-a _friend_ -like she were little more than a common AI. But...that's what she was until she proved otherwise. Without a body, all they had was data peppered throughout the most massive memory bank in the galaxy. "I'm starting to think we are actually drowning in too much information rather than not enough."

"The correct algorithm could narrow down the files to only those that pertain to Shepard Commander. You knew that already." Geth Prime's head plating moved apologetically as if the concept of stating the obvious was new to him. "After that, we filter for only what we really need to find-which would be health records and her genetic profile from C-Sec security scans. We compile this with all correspondence to and from Cerberus and the Alliance and the Normandy."

Tali blinked at him, her face scrunching up in confusion. "Prime, what...what are you talking about? If you're thinking about the Lazarus Project again, I told you that it wouldn't work! EDI has everything, and that Cerberus facility was destroyed by the Illusive Man."

"Not the Lazarus Project. The Lazarus Project was imperfect, incomplete. Geth technology is far superior to Cerberus, but you knew this already, also. We have not been researching only this one dilemma, Creator Tali'Zorah. All our minds are still one, and a drastic change has been noted in the anatomy, physiology, and overall biology of all living things. Geth and quarians no longer have a perfect dichotomy. There is no synthetic. There is no organic. All are changing. All are becoming one. Your single mind is slowly joining our many-and-one. Just like Shepard Commander, you will be a part of us, and we will be a part of you."

The geth reached over for a few more cables, carefully attaching them to different sockets built into his armored plating. As she came to grasp the meaning of his words, Tali watched the sinewy tissue beneath that plating, musculature that had been made to _look_ organic but was anything but. Beneath it pumped a white lubricant that on any living being would have been blood. But, for a geth, it was oil; it was coolant; it was conducive to electrical current.

Geth Prime's motions had become significantly more fluid over the past few weeks. She hadn't noticed. She should have. The sounds of his hydraulics were all but nonexistent. His eyelights were not merely empty whiteness. They weren't blank and expressionless, but _how_ they conveyed expression defied explanation or even proper description. And it wasn't just the moving headplates.

"What are you suggesting?" Tali's gut told her that she already knew, and she wasn't sure if actually hearing the answer would make her feel any better about it. She stared at the glittering green circuitry under her skin as if that could in any way be a comfort.

"We-the geth-have been researching the Reaper presence in the galaxy for many cycles. The Collectors. The Protheans. Their collective history. Shepard Commander was aware of some of this, but she did not know the conclusions we have reached. When the Reapers returned, there would be limited options available to all sentient life in the galaxy. Even more limited options for synthetic. What has happened is...curious...but we have determined that it is the best possible solution. Shepard Commander deduced correctly if these results are in any way a reaction to her choice-if she made a choice at all. From what we have observed of her behavior in the mainframe, a choice was made, but she does not remember it.

"To learn the choice that was made, to know what all the options truly were, we must return those memories to Shepard Commander. Cerberus was able to accomplish this once before with the Lazarus Project. But, the Lazarus Project is no longer good enough."

"Why do we need to know the choice?"

"Full information retrieval cannot happen without a precise query. A reaction cannot happen without an initial action. What is happening to all of us, Creator Tali'Zorah, is a _reaction_ , a result drawn from a query. It is impossible to fully understand this change without first knowing the catalyst." Geth Prime's headplates move again, rising as if with surprise and revelation. "The Catalyst. The Catalyst exists deep in the Citadel digital infrastructure. We encountered fragments before. There was a query. There was a response. There was change."

Tali came over to stand next to the massive geth as he continued to hook himself up to the ship's mainframe to better search the geth network. "Prime," she couldn't help the flutter of excitement stirring in her heart, the adrenaline pumping through her body and making her hands shake, "tell me what you are going to do."

Geth Prime turned his head to look down at her, his eyelights the brightest she had ever seen them.

"It is the simplest solution to a complex problem, Creator Tali'Zorah. A program processes best when housed on its own memory core. We will build Shepard Commander her own. And, then, when Subject Jack and the krogan Grunt secure the Alliance medbay, we can rebuild her. Geth technology. Human genetics. Superior to Lazarus Project, for the results must match the change in all of us."


	9. Deus Ex Machina

Garrus was reluctant to open his eyes. He slept less and less these days, and the grogginess that would dog him for hours was not a thing he looked forward to. It was his own fault, he had to admit. His dreams were sometimes less a healing balm and more a reopening of a poorly sutured wound. He expected the hum and ambient blue light of the aquarium. Instead, he was greeted by a white light aiming to be natural daylight reflecting off a pale ceiling of indeterminate composition. It didn't shine, didn't seem to be metallic in any sense, but he couldn't quite identify it.

His vision was also a tad blurry...that could have been a part of it.

He draped a forearm over his eyes and let himself sink back into the pillow. The alarm clock was gloriously silent. No Frank Sinatra. No randomized electronica that sounded like it belonged blaring from the sound system at Afterlife. Just silence.

Silence broken by muffled giggles.

Garrus let his head fall to the side, one eye peering out from beneath his arm to try to see whatever was making the noise. The pitch was too high to be anyone on the Normandy, and the resonance was distinctly not human. Did he leave a vid playing? He couldn't recall having even watched anything for days before this. To the right of the bed, where he expected to see Shepard's armchair and the great glass wall of the aquarium, he was instead greeted by a fully stocked bookshelf and a wide set of glass doors. The doors stood open, a gentle breeze coming through, and beyond lay a balcony bathed in light. He could just make out lush greenery peeking up over the balcony's low wall.

He rolled from the bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with the gentle tapping sound of his carapace meeting textured metal sheeting. He didn't notice how cold it was. That was not a level of sensation his turian skin effectively communicated. The softness of a carpet nearby was met with the same indifference. But sound affected him. Sight was something he was acutely aware of. Figures moved beyond the open doorway, dashing back and forth upon the concrete of the balcony floor. A larger, shadowed form was nearby, long, low to the ground, and almost completely still.

Garrus stepped out into the light and started when it suddenly felt like he'd stepped right into a trap. His knee was held fast, weight pressing down on the top of his bare foot. Glancing down, he saw the pale, bare head of a small child...turian...mostly. Something was off about it, though he couldn't explain precisely what. _No_ …. The little face was looking up at him, mandibles drawn out in what passed for a grin. He could have sworn in that moment that his heart stopped beating in his chest. When those little arms hugged him tighter, feet balancing upon his toes, he couldn't hold back the smile of his own.

He grunted when something ran headlong into his other leg to grab it up in a similar fashion. Whipping his head around, he was even more surprised to see what could have only been a juvenile (a very, very small juvenile at that) krogan.

"Ashley, I told you to be careful."

_Shepard_.

"What's going on here?" Garrus asked, trying without success to extricate himself from the miniature life forms.

Shepard smiled up at him from where she lounged on a patio chair, her body cushioned by vinyl padding that had been trendy on the Presidium when such things still mattered. She was in her black and red N7 casuals, and her brown hair was only loosely bound up in a bun at the back of her head. Strands had fallen out to curve alongside her cheek and jaw. The carefree look to it all was even more refreshing than seeing her in a formal gown and actually able to dance.

It was moments like these that made him wish he could just stay asleep forever. But what good would that do? For all that had happened, he had a greater responsibility to those that had _survived_ the war with the Reapers and the subsequent crash on Planet Normandy. He'd had countless conversations with James and Chakwas on that point and one particular urging from Liara where she threatened a mind meld. "Threatened" wasn't the correct term. She had suggested it as a friend, as a way to help. His lack of sleeping had turned into an avoidance of eating, and if the main battery being under lockdown that one day about a week ago hadn't been some sort of intervention, he was an idiot.

But the dreams, as much as they tormented him upon waking, were a haven while he was in them. A haven the Shepard VI could not replace no matter how many conversations he'd managed to have with it. Those had always eventually hit some sort of data loop.

"You remember that time on Omega where you nearly got yourself killed because the batarian bartender hated humans?"

"We showed him, didn't we?"

"That turian you managed to incite"-Garrus couldn't help but laugh-"that was the best part."

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

"Paranoia always wins in a gutter like that."

"There's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together."

"Yeah…. That, too."

This Shepard was different. For all she was ultimately intangible, this Shepard was _Shepard_. Smarter than any VI, even more real than the best AI he had ever encountered (...which was EDI), this memory trapped amidst the geth chatter only she could perceive was almost as real as the real thing. And that was as maddening as it was beautiful. The smile on her face was serene. The ease of her posture made him relax just a little. There was no threat here. There was only Shepard, himself, and two very curious children on a balcony overlooking the Presidium.

"We have Ashley for the day," was Shepard's reply. "Mordin can't have her in the lab while he works on a few tests-a new treatment for some sort of asthma the quarians seem to be experiencing."

Garrus shuffled his way over to a lounge chair next to Shepard and tried to sit down himself. There were giggles at his knees from the toddlers that refused to let go. With a mockery of a growl, he swooped down and gathered one up in each arm, squeals of delight meeting his ears as he let himself collapse with the two of them onto the chair. Ashley prompted her miniature turian companion to slide with her down the leg rest. They each gave exaggerated grunts as they bumped over the horizontal pads and laughed out loud when they plopped gracelessly onto the floor.

"And what good is that going to do?" Garrus asked. He tried to keep his tone as conversational as he could. This was not a time for bitterness. He had already learned that this Shepard-unfortunately like the VI in the main battery-had little concept of exactly how impossible everything felt outside of all this utopian illusion.

Shepard shrugged and went back to reading whatever book she had open on her datapad. "Tali's been visiting. She and Geth Prime are working on something Earthside, but the quarian scientists are having some difficulties acclimating." Her smile broadened though she didn't look back over at him. "And that's why I really hoped you would come today. Prime thinks he figured out what I am."

"Geth Prime. A _geth_ and Tali...are working _together_ …?" He knew she had said something after that, something important. However, he had to admit that it was hard to mentally process that first bit to any reasonable degree.

Another shrug. "She eventually trusted Legion."

"Barely. And Legion was a special case. They were in close quarters for months, _forced_ to cooperate-with you to guide them!"

"War changes people."

"So, geth are people now." There it was. The incredulity would not be kept out of his tone that time.

"Garrus, just _listen_ to me...because I'm honestly not sure how much longer I can do this. Geth Prime thinks, based on information collected throughout the network and what has been reported by other survivors, that I'm the ghost in the machine. A better term, according to Mordin, is that I'm more the _deus ex machina_ in its classical definition, but I think that's taking it a little far."

She turned off her datapad and set it aside, twisting her body so that she was looking at him full in the face. "If Prime is right, it makes me little more than a sentient program on a network that doesn't have the same infrastructure it used to. At the same time, he believes that it's growing, that every subconsciousness is reflexively connecting, uploading, and the only description he could supply that I would understand is that it's becoming full of souls." Her expression soured. "I was never one for philosophy, but hearing it come from a geth makes me want to listen.

"They're going to try to give me my own memory core-Tali and Prime. I'd be just like EDI at that point."

Garrus balked. "They want to turn you into an AI?"

"Essentially. Temporarily." Gray eyes hardened, but it wasn't with anger. It was that familiar determination that he always saw flash just before the squad set itself up against impossible odds. "They've told me similar things to what you and the others have. Joker, EDI, Liara-everyone has said that they've become afflicted with an inexplicable condition. Shimmering circuitry under the skin...the ability to eat things that would have killed them before. In EDI's case as well as the geth, they've developed the ability to eat, period. You've told me as much."

The turian couldn't do anything but return a shallow nod. He was waiting for the bad news to drop. Shepard almost never had this much to say about anything unless she was drunk or had bad news to deliver. Sometimes, it was a mix of both. But Garrus was having difficulty thinking of what could be worse than being told a living soul basically existed as little more than an AI-or _would_ exist as such. He held his breath as he waited for Shepard to make that fateful confession.

"It's going to take time," Shepard went on, "but if the pattern continues, Prime thinks that I'll adapt like everything else. Adapt and, hopefully, come out of it with all my memories intact."

Garrus swung his legs about so that his feet were on the ground. Elbows upon his knees, he leaned forward, eyes level with Shepard's as best as he could make them.

"Adapt? They're going to turn you into _what_ that will adapt?"

The determination faltered. Her eyes fell to the concrete that had been painted the same pale gray as the underside of the virtual clouds projected upon the Presidium inner ring. Those clouds drifted past, ignorant of what went on beneath them. In fact, the air about them was alive with familiar noises of how the Citadel used to be, but that was furthest from Garrus' mind. He didn't care if a krogan were boisterously laughing at some joke told by an unidentified female companion. It was immaterial that even two juvenile beings were playing on the far side of the balcony with a toy drone. There was nothing- _nothing_ -that mattered outside of Shepard and himself for so long as he was slave to her illusion.

Eventually, she shook her head. "I don't know. Prime is convinced the technology is adequate, that once they have key records, they can do even better than...better than Cerberus."

Garrus huffed. "For all I despise Cerberus, they did a damned fine job the last time. What does a geth know about what makes you _you_?"

"He doesn't need to. Whatever still exists of me is preserved in this program. Otherwise, Tali said she'll do what she can." Her eyes met his again, and the silver shone almost aquamarine with tears. "But they don't know what it will mean overall. I might be able to reach out to you and the others through the mainframe. I might not." She steeled herself, feet meeting the concrete opposite Garrus and mimicking his posture. "There's a chance we won't be able to speak like this again, or...at least for a while. EDI has given me all of her observations on star positions that she's gathered. Liara fed me a report on atmospheric composition."

Her hands reached up and held his face, kept him looking at her, kept him with her even though he was beginning to feel that waking up might be in his best interests. He knew it wasn't. The long months had proven that the dreams of Shepard were far more than that. It wasn't just a lovelorn turian going mad. It wasn't just a squad pining for its beloved leader. It was Shepard letting them all know that, somehow, through the vastness of space and the greater realm of improbability, she was _still here_.

"I _will_ find you, Garrus Vakarian," she said, the determination in her voice even if it wasn't captured in those all-too-human eyes. "I will find you. I will find the Normandy. We've come back from worse than this."

She leaned in and kissed him, then. Despite the illusion, he _felt_ it, the warmth, the feeling, the urgency he had long since grown to appreciate. Two suicide missions had taught them both to cling to what was most precious, no matter how small. Right now, hope was small, and Garrus didn't need Shepard to tell him anything to make him want to cling to it.

He held her close until the virtual sun of the Presidium began to set, the two of them fitting themselves onto the same lounge chair with all the ease of squeezing into the same bunk on a military vessel. No officer's bed, just a narrow thing barely wide enough for a grown human. Neither minded. For Garrus, the sensation-no matter how fabricated within the realm of his subconscious-was enough. He'd give up every doomed conversation with the Shepard VI for five seconds of this.

And he might lose that.

Shaking his head, Garrus held Shepard even tighter and looked over the slope of her shoulder to where the children were. They had rolled out mats and lay upon them, sleeping as though their long hours of play had truly worn them out. They slept as Shepard slept, the whole environment around them shifting to match the whims of its master control.

Shepard. A program. An AI. A soul trapped somewhere that she didn't belong.

And, of all the things in the galaxy-no, the _universe_ -that might be inclined to propose a solution, a geth and a quarian thought they might know.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Tali_ , Garrus thought to himself as he felt the tug of reality. There was a low noise, grating and persistent. The alarm clock...he forgot he'd changed its sound. _Bring her back. Bring her back to me._


	10. Shattered Glass

Jack slammed the door to her quarters. With all the destruction the Reapers had rained down, survivors were stuck living in buildings of older construction. Sometimes there was no working electricity. Other times, like now, there were no power doors at all. For one raised in a high-tech Cerberus facility only to later skip from one spaceship or station to the next, Jack found the heavy wooden antique doors of Buckingham Palace entirely inadequate.

It was still a barrier between herself and everyone else, however; and that was precisely what she wanted.

Her room was massive even though she had wandered down and down and along twisting corridors to find it. The old servants quarters that used to hold a dozen beds had been converted into storage and then an office and apparently back to storage in the past 200 years or so. The metal plating of the walls had been covered in wainscotting whose white paint had long ago grown dingy. In her anger, Jack slammed her fist into the floor, a shockwave of biotic energy charging forward. The opposite wall, despite its age and wear, absorbed it harmlessly.

Jack screamed until the echo rang louder than her own voice. When destruction was no longer therapeutic, there were only so many options left.

"Louder, Small One. I don't think Harbinger can hear you."

Jack's attention snapped over to the door. She hadn't heard it open. There, silhouetted in the emergency lighting of the hallway, was Grunt. The doorway that was huge by human standards barely accommodated his girth, but he entered easily all the same.

"Fuck off," the woman replied. Normally, her tone would have been hard, forceful, snappish. But for as much as she wanted to be alone, the krogan's presence was comforting enough that all she could manage was to sound tired.

And she suddenly felt so very, very tired.

The krogan didn't move from the doorway. Rather, he leaned against it, tapping the varnished wooden surface as though he found it a curious thing. To him, it probably was. Born and raised in a tank, given new life upon the metal workings of the Normandy, Grunt had probably never even seen something made of wood let alone know where it came from. Further, even if he did know, there was the definite reality that his warrior brain was acknowledging the superior qualities of metal armored plating in comparison to centuries-old oak.

"You know Tali didn't mean what I know you think she meant, right?"

Jack sighed and raked a hand through the crest of hair she had allowed to grow back. "Look, I really don't want to talk about this."

"They just need a small sample of your-"

"I will _not_ be someone's _fucking experiment_!" The woman blinked and found herself standing face to face with the krogan. She couldn't remember standing up or dashing over. She definitely didn't remember triggering her biotics, but they were flaring nonetheless. Blue light completely consumed her right fist, a fist she had stopped only a few inches away from Grunt's scowling left eye. "Not again. And Shepard deserves better than being one, too."

"Shepard's the one that told them to do this."

"In what? One of those screwed up dreams? Geth don't fucking dream."

"And mechs don't scream in pain, either, but you and I know better, don't we?"

Jack's expression remained hard, and her dark eyes didn't even blink as she let her biotics extinguish. Her hand dropped back to her side.

"You and I both know what it's like to spend our lives in a tank, to be poked and prodded and fed all the wrong information." He lowered his face so that his snout was a hair's breadth from her nose. "This isn't that."

"No. This time, it'll be Shepard in the tank."

"Do you think she would let Tali do this without knowing what she was getting into? She survived Cerberus same as you. The difference is that she didn't let it _own_ her."

The woman wasn't about to let that one slide, no matter how much of a friend Grunt was. She took a few steps away as if to to back to her bed, then spun back in a beat. With a shriek of rage, she flung blasts of biotic energy at the krogan still standing in the doorway. As if he'd been expecting it, he took a step back and closed the door to use as a barrier. The power meant to reave his armor into uselessness was absorbed by the wood, rendering it totally harmless. He knew. These doors and paneling weren't a curiosity to him. He _knew_.

Further enraged, Jack kept up her barrage. Her screams were unintelligible and fierce, but even she couldn't keep it up forever. As she tired, her yelling broke into sobbing. She collapsed to the ground when she couldn't pretend anymore. She wasn't the badass bitch she wanted the galaxy to believe she was. She was just some little girl, some frightened little girl snatched away from her mother's arms at birth, taken and hidden and tortured until there was nothing left.

But Shepard had thought there was something. She had kept saying it over and over and over all those times she'd make her way down to the dark underbelly of engineering, that cave of pipes and plating and machinery where Jack had hidden herself on the Normandy. She hid not because she hated people. She hid because she didn't want to see all the things she could have been if given the chance at a normal life.

Shepard had gone and given her that chance anyway...no matter how much Jack knew she didn't deserve it.

She felt herself be hauled up by the collar of her jacket, sleeves digging into her underarms. She didn't have the strength or will to get her legs under her and found that, in this instance, she preferred to let herself be dragged across the floor and plopped onto a mattress that creaked with old springs. Grunt stood in front of her, then, arms crossed in front of him and his head tilted to the side in expectation. A human might have coddled. An asari would have comforted. A salarian would have preached the logistical errors of such an outburst of emotion.

Grunt just waited.

Jack pressed her palms to her face, gruffly wiping away the remaining signs that she'd been crying. Had it been anyone else in the room, she would have been embarrassed to the point of raging again.

Tired...so very tired.

"Just a small sample...Tali promised."

Grunt nodded. "Just a flake of skin and a drop of blood. You're the only human biotic we've got."

"And then what?"

"Then we wait." The krogan held out his hand to help Jack get to her feet. "And we give Shepard something we never had while trapped under glass: support."


End file.
